by Pamela Morsi
"Get 'em both in the wagon," Quick ordered, and the two deputies escorted their prisoners to a police wagon that was parked in the alley.
The wagon was totally enclosed with built-in benches on each side. Henry Lee, with his hands still constrained behind him, was helped in and seated on the left. Hannah scampered in unassisted, deliberately avoiding the hand offered by the other deputy.
The door closed behind them and was barred from the outside. The husband and wife found themselves alone at last, but not where they had both hoped to be.
The only light in the wagon came from several tiny square windows cut in the sides of the walls near the ceiling. They were barely big enough to allow a man's hand through and the light they let in arrived in stripes of blue-gray, painting them both with unreality.
"Henry Lee? Are you all right?" she asked. Her husband still hadn't looked at her.
"That's the question I should be asking you," he mumbled almost unintelligibly.
"I'm okay," she answered, running her hands up and down her arms as if to warm herself in the stifling heat of the wagon. "A little scared, I guess. What is this about? Surely that jar of liquor you bought me last night couldn't get us in this much trouble."
In some strange way, Hannah hoped that it was her fault. She wanted to help, she wanted Henry Lee to look at her again and to smile.
"No." Henry Lee shook his head with a rueful laugh. "It has nothing to do with that. Or maybe it does. That was my whiskey we bought last night." He looked at her then. His eyes were hard and cold, not daring to hope for compassion or understanding, afraid to expect too much from the woman he loved.
"I'm a moonshiner, Hannah. That's how I make my living. I always have. I've never been caught before, but now I am."
"Moonshiner." Hannah said the word as if she had never heard of such a thing before. Then she repeated it as if getting used to the sound on her tongue. She knew a good deal about moonshiners, selling whiskey to the Indians, leading them into drink and sloth and crime with their wicked, evil brew. There were dozens of them in the border country and she had heard more than one person in the church complain about the danger they posed to everyone. She'd heard much about moonshiners, but none of what she knew related to the man who sat across from her. The man that she loved.
“I realize that you didn't know about this before you married me. I would have told you, had you asked. But you really made your choice without me in on it. I'm sorry, Hannah, but sometimes when you set out to trap a man, you get more than you've bargained for."
Hannah was still struggling with reality. "Does my father know?"
"Yep." He replied shortly, looking straight at her now. She may have seen him bowed, but he wasn't broken, and he wasn't about to wallow in shame. "He's always known. Why he didn't tell you, I couldn't say." Henry Lee gave a half-amused shake of his head. "I guess you'll have to ask him. I suspect most everyone at Plainview Church knows," he added cruelly. "I figure that's why it was such a scandal when we up and married. They thought you were much too good to be taking up with the likes of me."
Henry Lee looked away, studying the ceiling of the wagon. Hannah sat stunned, trying to make order out of her mind in chaos. Everything in their marriage was a lie. She had believed in him, trusted him, and he was an imposter. He had shown her a fine, hardworking man and made her fall in love with him. Now she discovered that the man she had loved was not that man at all.
Her rage and hurt began to pile up on her, stinging and burning in her eyes. She had been fooled and made a fool in front of her family and friends. It was almost too much to be borne.
"You lied to me! Everything you said was a lie!"
"Not everything, Hannah." He understood her anger. He was angry himself. How stupid he had been to bring whiskey right down to the doorstep of the Federal marshalls. When a man got that greedy, he deserved to be caught. But, he added to himself remorsefully, his wife certainly didn't.
"When we were running last night, it was because they were after you. They were trying to arrest you last night."
He didn't answer; he didn't need to. She already knew the truth.
"All those trips you make in the evenings to trade, you were out selling whiskey! Harjo and the people of Sandy Creek, they're not your friends, they're your customers."
"They are my friends, too, Hannah. It's possible to be both."
"Is it?" Her face was red with anger. "I suppose it's also possible to care about a woman and lie to her at every turn!"
The wagon stopped abruptly and a minute later the door was opened. She didn't refuse help in getting down. She needed someone to steady her now. She was completely off balance.
Henry Lee watched her, concerned. Surely, even old Tom Quick could see she was not the kind of woman that you throw in jail. He would have to do something to get her out even if it meant confessing to everything and more.
They were ushered into a back door of the courthouse, near the area that served as a jail. Henry Lee was led down a long hallway in front of her and Hannah started to follow.
"This way, ma'am." The deputy beside her took her arm and started up a flight of stairs.
"My husband?"
"He's off to the lock-up. Marshal Quick wants to talk to you first, ma'am."
"I need to see my husband!" she said, realizing that it was true, but not knowing exactly why.
The young marshal recognized a woman of quality when he saw one. Ill at ease and embarrassed, he wanted to be rid of her as soon as possible.
"You can take that up with the marshal, ma'am."
Rounding the corner at the top of the stairs, she was directed to Marshal Quick's office. It smelled of stale tobacco and old boots, and even the open door leading to the upstairs porch didn't relieve the musty, closed atmosphere of the place.
The marshal came in and gave Hannah a slow, deliberate appraisal, and smiled, revealing his personal approval. He admired Watson's taste. This big, buxom gal, all covered up like a schoolmarm, surely was enough to make a man worry himself about getting those clothes off her.
"Ah, Mrs. Watson," Quick said, putting on his best behavior, "set yourself down. You are Mrs. Watson, not just calling yourself that?" He smiled smugly at her. "We can find out for sure, of course."
Hannah felt her anger swiftly being redirected at this man. He sat there ogling her, smelling badly, and judging her and Henry Lee, like he was God's archangel.
"I am Hannah May Bunch Watson. I was duly married to Henry Lee Watson in Plainview Church, Oklahoma Territory, on the twelfth day of last month."
She bristled with indignation, seating herself as if she were now the one ready to pass judgment. "Please feel free to check up on that. The minister will remember us. He is my father, the Reverend Farnam Bunch!"
Tom Quick did not allow one tiny portion of the surprise he felt show in his face. Hattie had told him that she was a preacher's daughter, but he hadn't truly believed that. There were plenty of so-called preachers in the territory, drunks or con men most of them, and he had assumed that she was one of their gets. However, if she was a real preacher's daughter, a good Christian woman mixed up with a criminal, then he should be trying another tack entirely.
Quick rose from his desk. "Let me see if I can get you some coffee, Mrs. Watson. You've been through a terrible ordeal this evening. It seems like I'm making it worse. Just rest here a spell and I'll see what I can find."
Hannah was puzzled by his sudden shift, but assumed that he had finally realized she was telling the truth.
Left alone, she tried to gather her thoughts. Henry Lee had denied nothing. She was the wife of a moonshiner and whiskey peddler. It was unexpected and unfortunate, but as he had pointed out, he hadn't begged her to marry him. She had forced him into it, and she had decided at the time that she deserved her fate. She hadn't known what her fate was to be. But now she did.
There was no way that she could become unmarried. Divorce was as distasteful as crime. They had made this marriage in good faith and they
would have to make the best of it, no matter the circumstances.
She would be the wife of a man that had committed crimes. He would have spent time in jail, but he would pay his debt to society and be a better man for it. The Bible was a compendium of repentant sinners, there was no reason why Henry Lee couldn't follow in their footsteps.
And he had a wife now, to help him see the error of his ways, and change himself for the better.
To Hannah it was the same as ruining a batch of preserves. You just throw them out and start over from scratch, trying to do it better the next time. If something got broke, you fixed it.
She chastised herself for her earlier anger at Henry Lee. She had only been thinking of herself, when she should have been thinking about him. From what little he'd told her about his life, she was convinced that he had never had any proper guidance, certainly no Christian teaching. She had all those advantages, and hadn't she so easily fallen into sinful ways herself?
The fact that he wasn't a worse criminal than this was just evidence that he was an exceptional man, with a shining soul. And right now, that shining soul was suffering. He was somewhere here in this building locked in a cold, dark cell thinking that she hated him. She had to speak to him, and right away.
The door opened and Tom Quick came back in.
"I couldn't find any coffee around here this late in the day. I went across to the drugstore and the druggist gave me this," he said, indicating the bottle of brown liquid in his hand. "He says it's for ladies who are fatigued or distraught."
He handed the bottle to Hannah and she poured some of the foaming elixir into a glass before looking at the label. She read the words "Dr Pepper" and decided to drink it sparingly, fearing it might have the same effect on her as the corn liquor.
As Tom Quick watched her, he plotted his next move. He had checked with the deputy while he was out. They had shucked down Watson and found nothing—no money, no receipt.
The marshal looked across the desk at her and smiled in a way that he hoped would be fatherly and sympathetic.
"I'm sure this has been an awful shock for you, ma'am. Discovering that your new husband is nothing more than a common criminal."
Hannah said nothing but gazed into her glass at the foaming brown liquid.
"Watson has been making moonshine, oh . . . I'd estimate for about ten years or so. Ever since he was a boy, really. He's got a still up on his farm somewhere."
He watched her face, it revealed little more than her own curiosity.
"You been living on that farm?"
"Yes."
"You seen anything that mighta been a still?"
Hannah ran a quick inventory of every building on the farm. She couldn't remember anything that was unusual in the way of farm tools. Nothing she could think of even remotely resembled what she imagined a still to look like.
"No, I never saw anything like that," she answered him, looking him straight in the face.
There was no question in Quick's mind that she was telling the truth. The still must be well hidden, no help there. He'd have to try another way.
“Now, Mrs. Watson." He stood and began pacing back and forth from behind his desk to the door to the upstairs porch. "Your husband brought a load of whiskey from the border down here to Muskogee. We checked with the railroad about your baggage and they insist that you only brought a couple of satchels. Do you have any idea how your husband could have got that whiskey down here?"
"No," Hannah answered truthfully, but as she looked down to take a sip of her Dr Pepper she saw in her mind the wagon loaded with the coffin they sent on the freight train. Her first instinct was to tell the marshal, cooperating with the law was the duty of a Christian. However, she was a practical person, and it didn't seem reasonable to make heroic efforts to help the people who were trying to send her husband to jail. If she just didn't say anything, it wouldn't really be the same as lying.
When she raised her head to look at him, he tried again.
"What about the money? Did you happen to see your husband with a large sum of money?"
Hannah was unable to control the flush that came to her face as she recalled the telegrapher counting the money in Sallisaw.
Quick didn't miss it. She knew something about the money for sure. If she lied and said she didn't, he would hold her in jail until she changed her mind.
Hannah couldn't out-and-out lie to an officer of the law. But there was no commandment that said "thou shalt not hedge."
"Actually, my husband did spend a good deal of money at the Sallisaw Table Company this morning."
"Sallisaw Table Company? You mean the one owned by the Oscar brothers?"
"Yes, that's the one."
Quick had known the Oscar brothers since the day they arrived in the territory. They were as honest as the day was long. What on earth could they be doing mixed up with Watson?
"What did your husband spend this money on?"
"Lumber. I believe my husband said it was walnut."
The marshal looked at her for a long minute, trying to figure out if she was straight or not. She couldn't have made something like this up.
"Excuse me for a minute," he said and left the room. Heading down the hall he called for Pathkiller. When the fleet-footed Indian arrived, he asked quickly, "What have you got?"
"So far, nothing, the hotel room is clean as a whistle and none of the clerks at the telegraph office recognized the description of Watson or the woman."
Quick accepted the bad news with a nod of resignation.
"The woman says they went to the Sallisaw Table Company this morning to buy some walnut from the Oscar brothers."
"Walnut?"
"That's what she says. Nobody'd make that up. Ride over there this evening, before they've got time to get to the bank, and see if your evidence money is there."
Pathkiller crammed his hat back on his head with a look of disgust. This was getting a bit ridiculous for capturing a moonshiner. If he wasn't getting paid expenses, he wouldn't even bother to go.
Hannah was sitting straight and dignified in her chair when Marshal Quick returned. He didn't have much hope of getting more information out of her. She was truthful, but obviously Watson had kept her in the dark.
"Marshal Quick," she asked finally. "Will I be allowed to see my husband? It is really very important that I talk to him."
Quick sat back down at his desk and tried to look understanding. "I've appreciated your cooperation, Mrs. Watson, but I still have a couple of questions."
"Then will I be allowed to see my husband?"
The marshal had hoped to hold that out as a reward for answering the next question, but given no other real choice, he readily agreed.
"Do you remember your husband talking with anyone, discussing business or money, since you got to Muskogee?"
"The Oscars, of course," she replied easily.
"Anyone else," he pushed. "Can you remember him talking with anyone else."
Hannah thought for several moments. There were only two people that Henry Lee had spoken with last night. She thought of Harjo, teaching her to dance with his bad leg. He had a wife, she remembered, and a son in college and a daughter. She hated to think of Harjo and his family suffering along with Henry Lee. And she was not sure that Harjo was even involved. But she was absolutely certain that the other person he talked with was deeply involved.
"When we went to the Ambrosia Ballroom last night," she began, praying that she was doing the right thing, "he spent a good deal of time discussing some kind of business venture with Mrs. Byron the proprietress."
Tom Quick continued to gaze at her for a few minutes. He was convinced that she had told everything she knew. Undoubtedly Hattie Byron was Watson's connection in town, and she was hoping that this afternoon's playtime would give her immunity from the marshal's investigation. Tom thought about it and guessed that she was right. He wasn't about to put a woman with a body like that behind bars. He just hoped that Pathkiller could find that mon
ey for evidence. It was the only chance they had to nail him.
"Thank you kindly, Mrs. Watson," he told her at last. "I know this has just been a horrible ordeal for you."
"Can I see my husband now?"
"I think that would be fine."
Henry Lee Watson stood in the corner of a sparse, dreary cell in the basement of the Federal Courthouse. He was hatless, coatless, beltless, and shoeless. The pockets of his trousers had been emptied and slashed open. None of this bothered him. All his concern was focused on Hannah. He berated himself as fifty kinds of fool for getting her entangled. He vowed never to involve her again. He remembered the look on her face in the wagon when he finally told her the truth. She'd believed such wonderful things about him. It hurt so much to prove to her that she was completely wrong.
He heard a door opening down the hall and the sound of footsteps. Pulling his long frame away from the wall, he steadied himself for whatever was heading his way.
When Hannah came in sight, he couldn't stop his face from breaking into a smile of relief.
"Hannah!" He ran to the bars and reached through to take her hand. "Are you all right? They aren't going to hold you?"
"I'm fine," she insisted, smiling at him. She wanted to seem brave and courageous, that was what they both needed. She turned to the deputy beside her. "Could we have a moment to be alone?"
The deputy was one who had seen it all and was not in the least impressed by Hannah's wifely devotion. But he found it hard to believe that she would be thinking up an escape plan, so he tipped his hat to her and moved up the hall out of earshot.
"Marshal Quick had me in his office questioning me, but I think that he's satisfied with what I've told him. Anyway, he has decided to let me leave."
"Thank goodness. I don't know how much evidence they have against me, Hannah. So I don't know how long I'll be in here. Did you get any indication of how much they know?"
Hannah shrugged. "The marshal didn't seem to know very much." She related the conversation between herself and Quick, including the hedging that she had been forced to engage in.
"You singled out Mrs. Byron! That witch!" Henry Lee found himself laughing, something he would not have believed possible an hour ago. "Oh Hannah, you are a jewel."